Will-O'-The-Wisp
by marauderX
Summary: Dean Thomas. Half-blood. If only his absentee father could have proved that...


Dean Thomas was not comfortable. He had been sitting in a tree for several hours, his back pressed up against the knotted trunk, and his legs were going numb from lack of use. Unfortunately for him, he was also a wanted fugitive who had unintentionally perched above an enemy camp.

It was only in Dean's seventh year that the ministry had fallen to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named but he had not fared well. An absentee wizard father who was currently unavailable to vouch for Dean's magical lineage left him at the mercy of the most notoriously discriminatory groups in the wizarding world, and had forced the just barely seventeen year old to go on the run. Weeks without a bed to sleep in or a shower to bathe in had left the poor boy in a discouraged and irritated state that was not helped by the fact that he had been running through these woods all night just to find the perfect tree to hide out in, only to find out that the largest encampment of Snatchers was not ten feet below him.

In short, Dean Thomas was not having a very good day. Fortunately, the hours were slowly trickling away and the sun was moving past the horizon, its fleeing rays creating a masterful painting of reds, oranges, and pinks splashed across a normally blue sky. If everything went well, Dean could be on his way in just under an hour, the Snatchers left behind and his hiding spot undiscovered. Of course, Dean had not been at the receiving end of much good luck as of late, but he still had to keep his hopes up. Dean brought his hand up to the collar of his dark green jacket to lightly feather the small pin attached there with the pads of his fingers. The pin, a modest thing that was dull from years of use, had only the letter S carved into it.

 _Seamus,_ Dean thought sadly.

His best friend in the entire world. Seamus and Dean had become fast friends during their first year at Hogwarts, and as the years went by they just became closer. When Seamus's mother had taken the two to the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, the adolescents had stayed up late, using the large grouping of adult wizards to mask the fact that they had engraved their initials onto two small pins that Seamus had nicked off Ludo Bagman. As the last of the sun's rays finally made it past the glowing horizon, Dean look a deep breath. It was now or never.

Steeling himself against the trunk of the tree, he slowly inched his way into a standing position and braced himself. Making his way forward at an alarmingly slow rate, Dean put one foot in front of the other again and again until he was just at a crossing between the largest crossing of branches between his tree and the next. Grabbing onto a thick branch about two feet above his head, he hoisted himself up with a muffled oomph and kept on his way. He continued in this manner for quite some time before he felt it safe to descend from the foliage and continue on the ground. He jumped down quickly, his newly honed reflexes allowing him to cushion his impact into a barely audible sound.

Weeks of living in a constant state of terror had allowed the young man to become almost feline like in his movements. Dean quickly raced through the brush, his jeans catching on the small branches every so often, the charm he had placed on them long ago fading away but still protecting the material from the worst snags. Magic had been used liberally in the first few days on the run, but Dean soon realized that in order to stay off the radar, he had to act like those off the radar: Muggles.

Now he only took out his wand in case of Snatchers or in the odd moments when he needed to patch something up or recast a charm. The boy continued through the dark forest, the sounds of the trees becoming eerie as the night grew black. The rustle of wind in the trees, a sound he had once associated with his grandmother's cottage, now frightened him, the menacing danger of hidden foes clawing at him. Owls, the animals he once used to see fly above him with the post of his classmates, and sometimes his own too, now instilled fear in his heart with one hoot. These were dark times. As Dean continued along his way, he began to slow, his lungs heaving for relieve.

 _You can rest at that next tree,_ he told himself. _Just a few more steps._

With a hand against the harsh wood of the trunk, the boy grabbed the water bottle from the tiny pack on his back and took a gulp. Breathing deeply, the boy ran a hand through his matted hair and crouched down in an attempt to better conceal his figure. As he glanced around, a small light in the distance caught his eye. Startled, Dean fell over onto the ground and scurried behind the large tree trunk.

After a minute of panicked silence, the boy peered around his cover, straining to see what had made the light. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes adjusted the light flickered back into his vision. Unlike the light of a well-cast lumos charm, this one was just wisps, like bright uncoloured fire. Dean stood up slowly behind his tree, his body pressed against the wood as he struggled to get a better look at the light. The light bobbed towards him and he cowered back, not unlike how he used to hide behind his mother when he was little and the dreaded Santa Claus had tried to pick him up.

But suddenly, the light didn't seem so frightening. Dean felt warmth spread over his body and he stepped out from behind the tree. One step forward, two steps forward, then three steps forward and he could properly see the light, or more aptly, what was holding the light. A small winged person with distorted features but a smile nonetheless had a hand held out, and on that hand was the light, a small flickering fire that blazed without seeming to be hot.

"Will-o'-the-wisp," Dean breathed.

In one of the stories he used to read to his younger siblings, a man lost in the forest was guided back home by flickering lights held by pixies. He called them will-o'-the-wisp. The pixie smiled at the name and beckoned Dean towards her as she slowly moved farther away into the trees.

"No, wait!" Dean called out.

He began walking towards the strange little pixie and her flickering light when suddenly she vanished. Glancing around wildly, Dean felt a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. To find a will-o'-the-wisp and then have her disappear? But suddenly the light appeared again out of the corner of his eye. Not willing to waste any time, the young man raced after it. Within seconds the light flickered out again, but almost immediately it flared back on a few feet away. The musical sound of laughter rang about the forest and Dean chuckled himself.

 _It's playing,_ he thought.

Running after the light, Dean played the pixie's little game until finally the light flickered out and didn't come back on. He waited for a minute before speaking up.

"Hello? Are you still there?" He realized that he was alone in a forest known as Snatcher's territory, but at the moment he didn't care. "Hello?"

Suddenly his feet were taken out from under him and his back slammed into the rough ground beneath him, knocking his breath out of him.

"Who are you?" a gruff voice asked from above him. "How did you find us?"

Dean looked up to see a middle-aged man with dirt and grime on his face, scars on his arms, and surprisingly familiar eyes. Several men were standing behind the man as well as what looked like a goblin.

"Dean Thomas," he stammered out. The man standing above him seemed as dirty and unfed as he felt, so he elaborated. "Half-blood, and I'm on your side."

"Is that right?" The man sneered. "Prove it."

Dean glanced at the men behind the first, his mind racing. How was he supposed to prove that he was on their side? He couldn't very well owl Harry Potter to ask – the coin! Dean shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the clever galleon that Hermione Granger had given him back in fifth year.

"That's a Dumbledore's Army galleon," he pleaded.

The man took the coin and stared at it before a large smile blossomed on his face and he put out his hand and helped Dean to his feet. "So it is. Sorry about that, kid. My name's Ted. Welcome to the resistance.""

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So this is my entry for the House Cup 2014, Event 3. It was written using Prompt One. The magical creature was a pixie, or will-o'-the-wisp. Hope you like it, and please let me know what you think! :)


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